


As We Dream

by spotters_guide



Series: Heart of Darkness [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abstract, Animal Transformation, Blood, Gen, M/M, Polish Mythology, Stiles is a fan of ignoring problems until they go away, Stiles is also not terribly fond of Deaton, but very little violence, canon compliant up to season 3a, copious amounts of necking, it's going to go down some different paths for 3b though, or derek at the moment, teenagers tonguing, this does not work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spotters_guide/pseuds/spotters_guide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles walks away from the accident the night of the lunar eclipse with a dented front bumper (the jeep) and a mild concussion (his head).</p><p>The headaches Stiles gets from the concussion aren’t nice. Melissa tells him they’re normal though.</p><p>When Melissa and his dad finally deem to let Stiles go back to school, he figures the weird fuzzy scratching sensation in the back of his mind (like tree limbs tapping at a glass window in the wind) (like someone something asking to be let in) is normal too.</p><p>Until he doesn’t, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As We Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic at the beginning of the season 3 hiatus because I wanted to do something involving Polish mythology and the nematon.
> 
> The waking dream scenes were all written long before the show started hinting at what sort of repercussions tying themselves to the nematon might have, so despite the fact that I have clearly gone in a rather different direction than the show, I still feel faintly vindicated for these scenes. 
> 
> Scenes and explanations are a bit sketchy in this story because Stiles refused to actively acknowledge that there was a problem. But I do have a sequel planned that will be from someone else's point of view so things will become more clear then.
> 
> If you would like to read up on the Leshy on your own though you can do so [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leshy).

**As We Dream**

 

xxx

Stiles walks away from the accident the night of the lunar eclipse with a dented front bumper (the jeep) and a mild concussion (his head).

(okay stumbles maybe)

(okay stumbles is probably giving him too much credit)

(Stiles has no fucking clue really how he got from his jeep to the nematon. that’s probably the concussion at work)

(probably)

Melissa makes him stay home from school for a couple days and even reading the ingredients on the juice carton makes him want to barf (shit does it really have that much sugar maybe he should buy another brand next time he goes to the store) (next time his dad actually lets him out of the house without an armed escort) and when Scott’s dad (Agent McCall, he chose which one he wanted no take backs now) shows up at the house to try and get a statement from him Dad slams the door in his face.

Stiles tries to fistbump his dad and passes out at the kitchen table. He wakes up in his bed. His dad tucked him in. It’s nice.

The headaches Stiles gets from the concussion aren’t nice. Melissa tells him they’re normal though.

When Melissa and his dad finally deem to let Stiles go back to school, he figures the weird fuzzy scratching sensation in the back of his mind (like tree limbs tapping at a glass window in the wind) (like ~~someone~~ something asking to be let in) is normal too.

Until he doesn’t, anyway.

xxx

Scott talks about a heart of darkness like it’s something new, something quaint (a tickle at the back of the throat). Stiles listens and all he can think is that maybe Jennifer Blake (no Julia) (names are powerful, Stiles knows this but he doesn’t know how) (why) had meant for this to happen all along. Happen to them. He doesn’t understand why she would have bothered with the Conrad quote at the beginning of the year otherwise.

Coincidences just don’t happen in Beacon Hills, after all.

(it’s easier than thinking about the fact that he doesn’t feel any different)

(his heart anyway)

(his head is still killing him though)

xxx

Everyone seems to pair off after.

Lydia will send Aiden away without batting an eyelash when she wants to study though, because Lydia doesn't need to ask Stiles what his IQ is. Stiles doesn’t have the heart to tell the guy that he really is only a distraction for her (he recognizes the look in Lydia’s eyes) (it’s the same way she looked at him when she deigned to dance with him the night that Peter...)

Peter.

Where did he get to after all the dust had settled? Not with Cora and Derek (another pair) (they’re probably not sleeping together though) (except in the most literal sense maybe) (because werewolves), that would have hardly been ‘getting away’ for them. Not much of a mental health holiday with St. Sociopath dogging their heels. So Peter was probably still around but none of them had seen him.

(he remembers that Peter is supposed to have an apartment downtown)

(he remembers that Peter lies)

Stiles tries to tell himself that it’s a good thing Peter has been scarce but he’s not so sure. Nothing about Peter is ever good.

(nothing is ever good in Beacon Hills period)

(not since...)

Actually you know what fuck Aiden.

Stiles still kind of wants to break his head (why else do you think he bought a new bat and a metal one at that) so if Lydia wants to break his heart she can go right ahead. Stiles will even help. Stiles is well versed in heartache, after all. And Lydia is an expert.

That’s not exactly fair to Lydia (Stiles never claimed to be fair).

It isn’t so much that Stiles doesn’t have the heart (of darkness) as it is that he has no actual fucks to give the werewolf. It reminds him a bit of how he felt about Matt. In the beginning anyway.

That comparison isn’t really doing Aiden any favors.

(and just like with Matt he has more important things to worry about than Aiden’s delicate sensibilities)

( ~~like this fucking headache~~ )

Isaac and Allison. That’s a bit surprising. That Scott isn’t more upset about it even more so but Scott’s been doing a lot of growing up when all Stiles feels like he’s doing is growing old. And now when Scott grins at him and his eyes flicker red, Stiles can feel his heart rate start to speed up and he isn’t quite sure why.

(a memory maybe)

(no)

(not a memory)

xxx

 

xxx

It’s ScottandStiles again, instead of Scott and oh yeah Stiles (it’s been that way since the motel really) and they’re sort of patrolling the woods (but there were times) because Deaton said Beacon Hills would become a beacon (times like in the hospital) and because the school is suddenly scrambling to replace teachers (times when it was less ScottandStiles and more ScottcanStiles) (can’t) and no teachers means no homework means more free time in between track meets.

(which isn’t an oh yeah)

(but it’s not really a them either)

The forest. The preserve. It’s quiet. Nothing tries to kill them and in the lull it’s easier to notice how their breathing falls in sync with one another as they walk side by side. Stiles doesn’t feel like he’s hyper-ventilating anymore.

They come across the nematon and the ground around it looks less shattered than Stiles remembers (less fractured) (less broken) (less a reflection of JenniferJulia’s psyche) (less)

(and more)

Stiles breaks stride with Scott, makes them Scott. and. Sti. les. “Stiles?” Scott’s voice faintly pierces his consciousness (concern) but Stiles is already stepping up to lay a palm flat against the wide dark expanse of the nematon and

he

(stumbles)

The nematon is a living pulsing thing under his hands. Four minute evenly spaced lines glisten wetly on the wood next to his hand and when his thumb brushes against them it comes away red. The scratching tapping in the back of his mind rises to a cacophony so loud he doesn’t hear Scott until he’s standing next to him.

A hand on his elbow and the faintest glimmer of red in his eyes like the flicker of a flame.

“Stiles.” He says again. And again. “Stiles.” Gaze steady.

Stiles starts breathing again.

(he hadn’t known he’d stopped)

xxx

Stiles awakes not with a bang but with a whimper.

(or was that how the world ends)

xxx

“How well have you been sleeping?” Deaton asks with his usual level of ambivalent detachment that Stiles fiercely wishes he could emulate (he always just manages to sound mean or hysterical) (there is no in between). “Stiles?” He says when Stiles takes too long to answer him.  Deaton has less patience for him than most.

(he hasn’t touched Stiles since they came to the clinic, him and Scott)

(hasn’t touched Stiles ever really)

(Scott’s fingers are warm against the thready pulse in his wrist)

“Stiles.” Scott says once, low. Rubs his thumb over the back of Stiles’ hand. Stiles closes his eyes and listens to the way they breathe in time with each other (inhale).

(exha--) He opens his eyes.

He opens

his

eyes

(with a whimper)

His bedroom is dark and empty, quiet, sheets rucked up against his waist and hand aching deeply, curled tight in his lap like a snarl. There’s blood under his fingernails when he opens it (life) four little half moon cuts in a neat line down the middle of his palm (sacrifice).

Something’s tapping at the window.

xxx

   

xxx

“How well have you been sleeping?” Deaton asks (ambivalent) (detached) and Stiles slams head first into a panic attack so fast that he blinks (stops breathing) and he’s laid out flat on his back on the floor of the clinic with Scott crouched low over him and eyes so red that Stiles can’t bear to look away.

(it startles breath into his lungs again so fast he almost chokes on it)

Scott’s hand is clawed, sharp points at the end of each finger, but it curls so gently over the nape ‘of Stiles’ neck, cradling the back of his head. Thumb resting just next to Stiles’ jumping, wrenching pulse. He growls when Deaton tries to check the pulse for himself, a frightened jagged sound in the stillness that sends Stiles shivering.

(like the victims)

Deaton spreads his hands wide. Doesn’t touch.

( ~~sacrifices~~ )

No threat here.

(victims choked on---

Every part of Stiles hurts. Aches. He hates the come down from a panic attack where every single tensed muscle in his body seems to exhale all at once. Every part of Stiles hurts. Except his head.

\---mistletoe)

For once that is blissfully silent.

xxx

There is a seed growing, just in the periphery of Stiles’ subconscious. Just out of sight (out of mind).

(a sprout)

(a sapling)

Its roots sink and slink down deep into his body through the network of blood vessels to wrap dark tendrils around his heart in a lover’s embrace. Just enough to cast a shadow. A heart of darkness.

A symbol.

No--

an altar.

The questions becomes though: is the altar meant for him, or is he meant for the altar?

And: are the two necessarily mutually exclusive?

(Stiles has never understood the phrase ‘have your cake and eat it too’)

(if you have cake)

(why wouldn’t you eat it)

xxx

There’s a part to the mistletoe story that people often forget (that Jennifer forgot) (that Julia...). The bit where Baldur welcomed the arrow that Hodor fired. The part where Baldur welcomed any attack against him at a feast in celebration of his newfound inviolability.

The part where Loki was only giving Baldur precisely what he asked for.

Stiles wasn’t there to hear Jennifer (Julia) tell Derek that story.

(like it was any sort of explanation)

(like when you have to resort to using the Norse gods to defend your actions then it isn’t really any sort of defense at all) It echoes in his head regardless, like a recording. Like Derek shutting the door to his flat before he left town. Stiles wasn’t there for that either.

He can still hear it in the emptiness left behind.

Scott’s voice is the only thing that can fill it now.

xxx

 

xxx

Stiles drags Scott out to the preserve. Not to the nematon, that’s still a dark blur in Stiles’ head, like a photograph out of focus (and he needs more time to let it sit and develop).

Just.

Out.

To the preserve.

They take the same path they took not so long ago (a handful of months) (it feels more like an eternity) when Scott wanted to find his lost inhaler and Stiles wanted to find a dead body and Derek just wanted them both off his land.

(get off my lawn you meddling kids)

(I would have gotten away with it too if it weren’t for you meddling kids)

Stiles socks are wet and his feet are cold and a brisk wind sets him shivering and hunched down low in his hoodie. It’s getting too late into the year to just rely on a light jacket anymore. Scott bumps shoulders with him, walking so close that their feet wind up tangled with each other, and it’s only Scott’s quick werewolf reflexes that stops Stiles from making out with the damp leafy ground.

(even the ground doesn’t want to kiss him)

(only Heather...)

His arms are two tight hot bands around Stiles chest, fingers spread wide across his hips and Stiles shivers for a reason that has nothing at all to do with the cold.

He kisses Scott then, and it’s not anything he thinks about but it’s natural, feels like they’ve been building up to this for months now even though Stiles has never thought about Scott like this before and he’s relatively certain the same goes for Scott.

Scott kisses him back though.

(so maybe Heather wasn’t the only one after all)

Scott brings Stiles’ hand up to his mouth and licks a long stripe across his palm. When he kisses Stiles again, Stiles tastes copper on his tongue. Pain stings sharp and familiar in four parallel lines when Stiles clenches his hand into a fist against Scott’s chest but it’s little more than a passing concern because kissing Scott feels like a system reset for his brain (restoring it to factory setting) and Stiles thinks he likes that feeling.

(little pig little pig let me in)

His hand is bleeding again. The tapping in his mind stops though because--

(i’ll huff and i’ll puff and i’ll...)

\--why bother knocking when you’re already inside?

(blow your house down)

xxx

What Jennifer

-Julia-

never really understood.

Was that the best

...sacrifices...

are always freely given.

xxx

Allison corners them both at lunch (ScottandStiles) (Scott/Stiles now according to certain websites Stiles considers vaguely hysterical and deeply intriguing in equal measure) (fandom is a magical and scary place that Stiles can only peer at through the gaps in the curtains but it’s a good way to lose track of an evening when he ~~doesn’t want to~~ can’t sleep) eyes wild and fear trickling from her mouth. Her and her father have been patrolling the preserve.

(with Derek gone and Peter not and Beacon Hills being an actual beacon now)

That patrol always takes them past the nematon. What’s left of it anyway. Because the nematon is the genesis of it all, and the end (its own little ouroboros) and to avoid it, no matter how uncomfortable it makes Allison feel to look at it, would be to neglect their post.

(except)

Except there’s more than what’s left of it now. Except that last night when Allison and her father stopped by to check on it, they didn’t find a large dark angry looking stump. They found a full grown dark and twisting tree. With leaves bright green despite the autumn month and thick clusters of mistletoe adorning the branches in a crown.

Four identical lines of pain flare up in Stiles’ palm and Scott’s hands finds his own without any conscious thought, fingers threading together  and squeezing lightly as he filters away the pain.

Allison’s gaze drops down to their hands and her eyes go soft with confusion.

“We’ll talk to Deaton about it.” Scott tells her, and it’s not so much a dismissal maybe as a we’ll talk later. Stiles thinks he’s grateful for it. He and Allison still aren’t necessarily friends even after everything that’s happened, not in the way he and Lydia are now, or he and Erica were starting to be.

Allies, certainly, especially now that Gerard is mostly out of the picture, but friends? They’ve never had the chance. Making out with her ex-boyfriend in the preserve (and his room) (and under the bleachers because Stiles is actually a secret fan of cliches) doesn’t really feel like it’s going to further that chance any either.

Allison nods once, eyes still wide and smudged dark beneath, and walks away looking, if possible, more lost and adrift than she had when she’d first approached them.

They’re all far too tangled in each other’s lives for anything to be easy anymore.

(tangled like the roots of the nematon)

(tangled like the roots around his heart ~~of darkness~~ )

xxx

They’re at the animal clinic again.

Scene one take two. (or is that three)

Stiles is jittery and wan. He’s grateful that Deaton doesn’t like to touch him, doesn’t even like to be on the same side of the room as Stiles after the last time they were all together in this room, because anything other than Scott’s arm around his shoulders, sure and secure, is going to send him skittering for the exit.

(secure: adjective; safe)

(synonym; protected, sheltered, anchored)

(...anchor)

Deaton still looks like Deaton, through everything. Through Stiles going mad and Scott going gay (never thought Scotty had it in him) (heh) (in him) and the nematon going wherever the fuck it thought it was going, shooting up into the sky like a... like a beacon. Deaton remains steadfast through it all and it would almost be reassuring if it didn’t stink to Stiles of privilege and exclusion.

Stiles doesn’t understand how Deaton could live in Beacon Hills for as long as he has and not want to _protect_ it. Stiles always has trouble understanding why people aren’t more protective  of what’s (of who) theirs.

Scott’s just finished telling Deaton about what happened with the nematon, and Deaton has this expression on his face like he’s been expecting something like this to happen all along and it doesn’t endear the veterinarian to Stiles any more.  Deaton whittles away at Stiles’ patience further by walking over to his desk and fussing with some very old looking books on it like they aren’t even in the room with him anymore.

Stiles exhales loudly and buries his face against Scott’s chest, bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. The sudden sting and flood of copper onto Stiles’ tongue is deeply satisfying in a way Stiles flatly refuses to analyze but he can feel Scott frowning into his hair and flexing his fingers around Stiles’ arm and Stiles knows that Scott can smell the blood that Stiles can’t bring himself to swallow, can smell the blood pooling on his tongue. He knows that Scott’s going to bring it up, ask questions that Stiles doesn’t really have answers to and he secretly wills something, anything to happen to delay that conversations just the littlest bit longer.

A glass vial full of powdered mistletoe on a shelf halfway across the room explodes, shatters like the ground churning up underneath the nematon’s roots. (shatters like Julia’s mind) (like Stiles?)

Scott jumps, Stiles shakes, Deaton says: have you ever heard of a Leszy?

xxx

 

xxx

Stiles doesn’t want to think for a while. He hardly lets Deaton get his bit of exposition out before his skin is crawling so badly that he thinks if he doesn’t get out of there soon his skin is just going to walk away without him so he grabs Scott tight by the hand (so tight that if Scott wasn’t a werewolf he would probably have a bruise) and doesn’t let go until they’re safe and tucked away in Stiles’ room. Doesn’t speak either until Scott hesitantly asks, “Do you think we should talk about...?”

“No.” Stiles says shortly, fiercely. He sticks his tongue in Scott’s mouth without any sort of fanfare or build up, quick and dirty. Stiles can tell the moment the tang of his blood hits Scott’s tongue because Scott makes a jagged, animalistic sound and squeezes the back of Stiles’ neck with fingers tipped with claws as he sucks hard on Stiles’ tongue.

(when they break away to breathe Scott’s eyes are tinged in red)

There’s a low buzzing noise and it takes Stiles a second to realize the noise isn’t in his head (for fucking once) but coming from his pocket because Scott cocks his head curiously and fishes out Stiles’ phone pinched delicately between two claws. “You’ve been in contact with Cora?” Scott asks awkwardly around fangs.

(Stiles remembers the Halloween he’d first met Scott, when Scott had been dressed as a vampire and had so much trouble talking around the fake plastic teeth that he eventually threw them away with the sort of beleaguered disgust that nine year olds are particularly skilled at when there’s candy at stake and Stiles had told him that he could just be a vampire with a particularly skilled dentist and then offered him a gummy burger and they’d been best friends literally ever since)

(basically Scott was incredibly lucky he’d never needed braces or a retainer because he would have been lisping his way all through high school was the moral of the story here)

Stiles nods and shrugs at the same time and then knocks the phone from Scott’s hand to the floor because his nerves are still hot and scattered like buckshot and he needs to be kissing Scott right now, not telling him about how he and Cora sort of had a moment that one time that his and her lips had technically touched in the ambulance.

Except maybe later because the idea of Scott getting potentially jealous over the whole situation sends delicious fissures up Stiles’ spine.

He cups one hand to Scott’s cheek, scrapes a thumb gently along the point of one of Scott’s canines and urges him to open his mouth as he slots his own against it with a desperation that feels like it’s boiling his blood in his veins. Slides the other hand up underneath Scott’s shirt against warm, familiar skin. Rolls a thumb and forefinger over a nipple and hums contentedly when Scott responds by biting frantically at the plush corners of Stiles’ mouth and reeling Stiles in closer by his belt loops.

Their hips are just beginning to find a rhythm that they both agree with (oh _god_ but do they agree) when the bedroom door swings open with Stiles’ dad saying, “Hey kiddo I picked up Chinese on my way home, I hope you’re hung--” before he trails off abruptly.

“Oh god.” Stiles whimpers in abject horror, and rolls off of Scott so quickly that he almost gets another concussion.

Scott scrambles to grab a pillow to cover his lap (if he has any sense at all that’s what he’s doing anyway, Stiles refuses to lift his face from attempting to suffocate himself with the carpet to check) “Hi Mr. Stilinski.” He says weakly, and Stiles can’t exactly see his face but he’s assuming that Scott is smiling that perfect smile of his that says: you can’t kill me because you love me, possibly even more than your actual son.

(considering all the pointed questions Stiles has been getting about his dating life ever since his dad figured out that wasn’t what Stiles had been lying to him about, Stiles rather suspects his dad is more likely to throw Scott a party than throw him out)

“Hi Scott, are you staying for dinner?” His dad says bemusedly and Stiles just groans his protests wordlessly into the carpet because nobody is going to listen to him anyway so why bother? “We’ve got plenty of food because I tried calling Stiles earlier to ask what he wanted and just wound up getting a little bit of everything." There’s a calculated pause that Stiles doesn’t trust one iota and he’s right not to because his dad finishes by adding, “But then I guess you two were a little too preoccupied to hear the phone.”

(Stiles doesn’t even know _where_ his phone is at this point to be honest)

(he’s not lifting his face away from the carpet to look though no fucking way)

xxx

Melissa doesn’t walk in on them making out, but only because she greets Stiles at the door with the air of a woman who has been waiting for this day even since Scott brought Stiles home for the first time and says, “Scott has condoms and lube and if slash when you two run out _you will tell me_ and I will get you more. Close the door any time you two think your time together is going to go any higher than PG. And please don’t forget that Isaac lives here too and has more sensitive hearing than me. Are you staying for dinner?”

Stiles can only find it in himself to nod wordlessly.

“Good, you can help me cut vegetables." Melissa says, and then smiles. (her smile is just as great as her sons) (Scott clearly didn’t get any of that from _Agent McCall_ )

“I really really like your mom, dude." Stiles whispers across to Scott that night after dinner standing hip to hip at the kitchen sink while they rinse off their dishes. “Like, she’s basically the best thing ever.”

Scott smiles beatifically. “I know." He says contentedly and wipes a bit of soap suds across Stiles’ nose because he never can leave well enough alone. In this way he and Stiles are basically the same person.

(Stiles still maintains that he won the Great Suds Battle, even if it was Melissa in the end who ordered both of them to sign an armistice)

xxx

Isaac and Stiles are probably even less of friends than Allison and Stiles because at least with Allison there’s a little bit of amenity there, a facsimile of intimacy from when Stiles spent his break periods playing sentient love message for Scott and Allison.

(for a couple weeks there Stiles almost thought he was dating both of them)

(it was a very confusing time in Stiles’ life)

Stiles spent a good portion of their spring semester sophomore year hating Isaac with a ferocity that could almost manage to compete with the animosity Stiles currently harbors for the Jackson!lite twins (half the calories and half the taste, it’s as apt a description as any Stiles feels) and even now, with them all technically being on the same team, there’s something to Isaac’s attitude that just grates on Stiles’ nerves.

But Isaac is living with Scott now and Stiles might as well be living with Scott because every time Stiles has a spare five minutes to dwell on that conversation with Deaton he gets anxious and has to go find Scott and just touch him for a little while.

Isaac makes a scandalized face the first time Stiles shoves a hand up Scott’s shirt in front of him but downgrades to a slightly unsettled frown when it becomes clear that Stiles isn’t going to go any further with him in the room. (Stiles is an asshole but even he isn’t that big of an asshole)

Scott’s the one who always inevitably starts chewing on Stiles’s neck anyway. Sometimes he does it with blunted human teeth and sometimes he flirts with an edge of fang but it’s always just a glancing pressure, no threat of actually drawing blood, and it settles Stiles’ mind like nothing else.

(the tapping is gone, has been for a while now)

(but there’s a pressure building in the darkened edges, a presence that’s insisting on being acknowledged and Stiles isn’t going to be able to put it off forever but he always has been a fan of ignoring problems until they go away or simply become impossible to ignore any longer so that’s what he’s doing now)

Stiles is trying to talk Isaac through the water temple in Zelda and Scott has been nipping and licking Stiles’ throat long enough that it’s probably one big mass of bruises (school tomorrow is going to be interesting and by interesting he of course means awful) and it’s only after Isaac almost throws the controller through the tv screen in frustration that Stiles finds himself asking almost absently, “Have you heard from Derek lately?”

Scott stills with his tongue flat against Stiles’ carotid artery and Isaac turns to frown at Stiles in a look flirting between confused and surprised before shaking his head and shrugging one shoulder minutely. “No, why?” He asks tentatively.

“Nothing.” Stiles mumbles lowly. “It doesn’t matter, I don’t know why I asked. Just curious I guess.” Even as he says it he doesn’t think that’s really the reason. (he doesn’t _know_ though, not for sure)

(all he knows is that it didn’t feel like it was really him asking it)

“Do you want the other half of my Reese’s?” He asks Isaac to change the subject, holding out the bright packaging to him like a peace offering. After a moment’s hesitation Isaac accepts it with a muttered thanks and turns to try his luck at the water temple again. Scott smiles so brightly at Stiles he thinks he’s going to catch fire from it and Stiles doesn’t really think he deserves it.

Stiles just hadn’t been hungry anymore is all.

xxx

 

xxx

Lydia corner Stiles the next day in school in a particularly Lydia Martin brand of cornering that basically consists of shoving her way in between Scott and Stiles during lunch and leaving Aiden to hover around the periphery of the table with a conflicted look until Stiles glares at him over the top of Scott’s head and he beats a hasty retreat.

(a _very_ hasty retreat)

(it’s like he can hear Stiles contemplating in his mind whether or not he’d be able to murder the werewolf with a plastic fork)

(Stiles thinks it’s only fair he try it at least once, for the sake of science and all)

“I’m not going to talk to you about the frankly ridiculous state of your neck, Stiles, because I really don’t care.” Lydia says imperiously without even looking at him (which is a clearly calculated move because nothing this school serves for lunch is really worth that much attention) and Stiles hand flies up subconsciously to shield his neck which is a pointless endeavor because he’s seen it all in the mirror that morning and it seriously looks like he’s been mauled. “I would, however, like to congratulate you on your recent addition to the ranks of the freak parade. I’m thinking of starting a weekly newsletter.”

“How did you--" Stiles begins warily only to interrupted by Lydia telling him simply:

“Please don’t ask ridiculous questions, Stiles. You know I know everything."

Scott drags his head up hopefully from where it’s been buried in his history book since before Lydia came over to join them and asks her hopefully, “Do you know if there’s going to be a pop quiz in history?"

Lydia narrows her eyes thoughtfully in his direction and sips at her bottled water before declaring decidedly, “I think I’d much rather see you sweat, McCall."

Scott groans like he’s being stabbed in the gut and collapses again face first in his textbook. Lydia simply smiles. Stiles will always be a little bit in love with Lydia, she’s too brilliant not to be, but even he’s willing to admit that when she smiles like that it’s always a terrifying experience for everyone within a ten foot radius.

(the whole banshee things wasn’t too much of a surprise to be honest)

xxx

Stiles goes walking. He doesn’t think about why or where, just tells Scott he needs to see something and.

Walks.

Beacon Hills isn’t necessarily a small town but it is almost certainly a familiar one and walking in the preserve is really the only way to go anywhere without meeting people, though with werewolves even that isn’t strictly true.

(except Cora and Derek aren’t in Beacon Hills, and Peter hasn’t really counted as a person for awhile)

(there are no Hales in Beacon Hills, no Hales in the preserve)

(maybe that’s why the woods feel so empty now)

Halfway into the preserve Stiles changes his mind. Whatever he’s looking for isn’t in the preserve. Every step deeper echoes even louder in his head than the last. If there was something here to find he would have heard something by now.

(Stiles ignores the fact that this statement doesn’t _actually_ make sense because ignoring problematic things is probably his single most talent in life)

Stiles finds his way to Derek’s old loft instead. He doesn’t know why he expected it to be locked, but the door slides open easy enough with a bit of pressure exerted (okay more than a bit) and whatever it is Stiles is looking for, it isn’t here either.

The loft is just as empty as the preserve.

He sits down on the velour couch that he had always made fun of Derek for buying even while he secretly coveted it and found any excuse he could to rub his hands all over it. If he can sink his roots anywhere, it might be here. His...

(...roots?)

The loft is bare and desolate, completely leached of any nutrients. Nothing is going to grow here.

Maybe that’s why Derek left.

xxx

Stiles feels small today. Diminutive. (empty) He wants to burrow under Scott and curl up in his warmth and pretend there’s nothing else in the world except Scott’s hands and Scott’s smile and Scott’s heartbeat echoing all around him and weighing him down like a ballast. Keeping him safe.

(anchored)

It’s clear that Scott isn’t a hundred percent sure what to think of Stiles’ current mood but he’s laughing good-naturedly and trying to give Stiles what he needs and that’s why Stiles loves him.

“Not that I didn’t love you before.” Stiles clarifies with a moue of a faint displeasure when he doesn’t manage to disappear completely beneath Scott’s hand, even if the petting Scott is doing to his face right now is quite nice. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Scott agrees, because Scott is perfect.

The bedroom door swinging open without warning (Melissa would warn) is a deep and startling intrusion on their private little moment, and the contentment that Stiles was just finally managing to get a grip on goes tumbling into the abyss of his mind. It’s a bit like vertigo. Stiles is possibly even more surprised, however, when Agent McCall pokes his head through the doorway (Melissa would warn, so of course it’s not Melissa) and doesn’t immediately begin asking Stiles more questions about the night of the eclipse.

Agent McCall asks Scott, “You don’t have any friends up here with you?” When he obviously means Stiles (when there’s no one else he could possible mean so how does he not see Stiles sitting right there on the bed next to Scott) and Stiles has his third and final shock for the night when he adds, “When did you get a pet mouse?”

Scott’s hands fit perfectly over Stiles in this form. Stiles isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth by wondering _how_ just yet.

“Do you want to talk to Deaton now?” Scott asks Stiles after he’s finally managed to get rid of his dad (the second hand embarrassment for witnessing the failed attempts at father-son bonding would have been almost painful if Stiles gave two shits for Rafael McCall at all) cradling Stiles in the palm of his hand and brushing a thumb wonderingly across Stiles’ whiskers.

Stiles bites his thumb.

“Okay fine.” Scott sighs, taking the message for what it is and switches to rubbing his fingers against Stiles’s tawny haunches instead. “No Deaton.”

xxx

 

xxx

Stiles doesn’t know how Danny hasn’t noticed before now considering he’s in half of Scott and Stiles’ classes (it might have something to do with how Danny has sort of made a point of trying to avoid Stiles as much as he can ever since Stiles figured out he might like cock just as much as boobs) (and that he wouldn’t be at all adverse to finding out if he liked _Danny’s_ cock specifically) but Scott has Stiles pressed up against the lockers and Stiles has his hands stuffed down Scott’s back pockets and they’re kissing so slow and soft and ( _deep_ ) that Stiles has actually forgotten all English and is busy thinking in stilted Polish when he sees Danny walk past them in the hallways and stop so abruptly that Ethan runs into him and it’s only the fact that one of them is a werewolf that keeps them both from winding up on their asses.

He starts laughing into Scott’s mouth because the look on Danny’s face is probably the second funniest thing he’s ever seen, after the face Jackson made when he told him he had a tail. Scott bites once more at Stiles’ bottom lip before disengaging enough to see what has Stiles giggling breathlessly. “Oh hey Danny.” He says, smiling that perfect, shiny, Scott McCall smile. His smile is a little strained when he extends a slightly flat, “Ethan,” at the other werewolf, but the fact that Scott is even trying is more than the rest of them will bother with most days.

“Scott.” Danny says faintly, eyebrows rushing up to meet his hairline.

Stiles’ lips feel swollen and tingly now that they’re not pressed against Scott’s, and Stiles finds himself licking them thoughtfully, tracing the slight indentation of teeth along his lower lip. Danny’s eyes follow the movement almost unthinkingly. Stiles grins at him. It’s all still just strings of Polish in his head so he decides to let Scott do all the talking for now.

Danny shakes his head like he’s clearing an etch-a-sketch and pointedly looks away from Stiles. He seems almost hesitant when he starts speaking to Scott. “I didn’t-- I mean, don’t take this the wrong way but I always had the impression you were straight?”

“So did I.” Scott laughs. “But I guess... Stiles is sort of different? It’s not so new or strange because it’s Stiles and we’ve always basically been one fierce game of truth or dare away from all of this anyway.” (if they’d ever been the sort to be invited to those kinds of parties anyway, which they almost certainly hadn’t) “Stiles is... safe.” Scott concludes with and turns to slip his hand into Stiles’ and smile at him.

Stiles would smile back but he’s busy staring down Ethan, who hadn’t bothered to look away from Stiles at the same time as Danny. He doesn’t do anything ridiculous like bare his teeth at Ethan because he’s not an animal even taking into consideration that entire thing with Agent McCall the other day, but the Polish in his mind has turned decidedly vicious and unwelcoming and he’s entertaining the idea of testing his plastic fork hypothesis on Ethan as well.

(it’s not a viable experiment if you can’t reproduce the results after all)

Ethan takes two small steps back before he even realizes he’s done it, if the perturbed expression on his face is anything to judge by. Danny glances exasperatedly between Ethan and Stiles for a moment before deciding he doesn’t want to know. “You are probably the only person in this school that would ever refer to Stiles as ‘safe’.” He tells Scott definitively before dragging Ethan off down the hallway to class, successfully ending the conversation.

Danny always was the smart one, Stiles thinks.

(the Polish doesn’t stop even when his English comes back)

(like subtitles running along the bottom of a movie screen that are a few seconds off in pace from the audio, just enough to be jarring)

xxx

Stiles makes his way into the preserve again, finds himself at the nematon. He finds four red stains on the tree near its base that match up perfectly with the mark on his palm when he lays his hand against it.

The tree seems to pulse under his hand.

The preserve is just as empty as the first time, but if Stiles makes himself different, makes himself smaller, it doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming. More like he’s a part of that emptiness instead of an aberration.

(abomination)

Stiles falls asleep curled up in a ball at the base of the tree waiting for whatever it is he’s looking for, black tipped tail tickling at his nose.

Scott shows up some time later, concern scrawled across his face that settles into warm contentment when Stiles mewls a greeting at him, twitches his tail, and licks his nose. Scoops him up, and takes him home.

Except.

(except)

(if it was really home, he wouldn’t still be looking for it would he)

xxx

xxx

Stiles is back in the preserve the very next night despite his best efforts, sleeping feet taking him when his waking feet refused.

He’s been having such a hard time differentiating between sleeping and waking since everything changed (since his heart was swallowed up by the roots and cast in the shadows) so sleepwalking, he figures, isn’t that far of a stretch from anything else that’s happened. Waking up in the preserve doesn’t really serve to shock him either, he can’t seem to stay out of it lately.

It isn’t even that strange, Stiles is willing to admit to himself, to find he’s made his way to the burnt out shell of the old Hale house. If he’s honest with himself, he’s always been building up to it.

Except.

The preserve isn’t empty anymore. The preserve isn’t empty and Stiles isn’t alone at the Hale house.

Derek is there too.

Stiles must make some sound he isn’t aware of, because Derek turns to look at him, eyes flashing blue in the waning moonlight. His fingers prickle at the familiarity of that glow and he clenches them into a fist to stem the feeling.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, in that voice that sounds too soft to be coming from a guy that looks like him. There’s always been an auditory disconnect there for Stiles. It grates even worse now, after being gone. “What are you doing here?” He looks ever so slightly put out. Like he still has any sort of claim to this place after leaving, like everything in the preserve isn’t rightly Stiles’ now. 

(everything in the preserve belongs to Stiles)

(every _one_ in the preserve belongs to Stiles)

 _Derek just left_ and now he’s standing here, judging Stiles for going insane, when it was only ever his fault for leaving that had caused the preserve to echo so loudly in Stiles’ head.

It just seems like a waste not to use the fist once it’s formed, is all.

xxx

Scott is sitting on Stiles knees, cooing absently as he wraps Stiles’ hands in medical bandages from Melissa’s home stash. “What happened?” He asks, cradling the hands in his lap as he works. If Scott doesn’t wind up being a vet he’d make a pretty good nurse some day.

Stiles tells him wanly, “Derek’s back.”

Scott’s hands still in checking his work around the joints, in making sure they’re not too stiff or obstructing the blood flow to his fingers. “Okay...?” He says tentatively when he can’t quite manage to see the connection. “Try flexing it a bit, tell me how the bandages hold.” Scott tells him, scooting back off of Stiles’ legs to give him a bit more room to maneuver.

He hisses at the pain when he tries moving his fingers (the sound is more sibilant than it might have been a few weeks before) (Stiles wonders if he’s got a snake lurking somewhere inside his shadows) (he might like to try being a boa for a day) but nothing is broken so Stiles might as well count himself lucky.

(he doesn’t feel lucky)

(he feels basically the complete opposite of luck)

“Stupid Hale." Stiles manages to grit out between clenched teeth and crawls onto Scott’s lap instead because space is practically the last thing that Stiles wants right now, burying his face in his shoulder. “Even after all this time it’s still like punching a brick wall.”

xxx

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me at my [tumblr](http://spotters-guide.tumblr.com) for early excerpts from the upcoming sequel and other fic.


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